


Unhooking the Stars

by RemyCampbell



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Barricade Day, Barricade Day 2019, Depression, Enjolras Is Bad At Feelings, Idiots in Love, M/M, Misunderstandings, Sad R is sad, all the sad tags that go with Grantaire, demisexual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-04-08 10:12:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19105018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RemyCampbell/pseuds/RemyCampbell
Summary: Enjolras and Grantaire have come to an... arrangement. Grantaire is thrilled that his Apollo has finally found a use for him, even if he clearly still thinks Grantaire is utterly worthless. Enjolras has no idea what to do with his feelings for Grantaire, since the man obviously can’t stand him. But their physical relationship is enough for both of them, they swear... and it is utterly destroying them.





	1. Grantaire

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone.
> 
> I wasn’t going to post a story for Barricade Day this year, but I’ve had this work in progress for about a year and I thought this was as good a time as any to share it.
> 
> Disclaimer- this piece isn’t political. It isn’t about the People rising or about dying for a cause. I’m sorry for that. It’s just about two men who dream of a better world- for humanity and for themselves- though one is much more confident that he can help make that dream a reality.
> 
> It’s about love. And misunderstandings. And disastrous, clumsy, beautiful, and oh-so-very-human young men. (“Love, the future is thine”, yes?)
> 
> Love is the future, and Love must find space in the present as well. But the fight must go on. I like to think of today as a day to renew the fires in our hearts and to think of new ways to uproot corruption and oppression in our society.
> 
> “Let others rise to take our place until the Earth is free.”

Letting the same person break your heart dozens of times takes an appalling mixture of self loathing, masochism, and blind devotion. Grantaire knew this, knew how unhealthy the entire situation was, but he also knew that he would never put an end to it.

His hero, his idol, his love had finally found a use for him. No matter the cost to himself, Grantaire would never fail to do what Enjolras needed of him.

The fiery activist in question had just had a truly impressive orgasm, and Grantaire couldn’t help but feel a bit pleased with himself. Watching the marble Apollo crumble into a mess of delicious sensory overload was always exhilarating. He was good at this, he knew. Maybe not good at art or being a decent person or having hope for a brighter tomorrow, but Grantaire was extremely skilled in bringing Enjolras exactly the sort of release he needed.

These next few minutes were always Grantaire’s favourite part. Enjolras lay sprawled on the bed, relishing in the aftershocks of what he had just experienced, and catching his breath. The marble still lay in crushed pebbles around them. Grantaire could stroke the beautiful golden hair away from Enjolras’s flushed face. He could press soft kisses to his shoulder or rest his head against his torso and feel that brave and noble heart beating. Enjolras allowed it, if only for a few minutes.

It was over, as it always was, as soon as Enjolras was able to regain his breath and his perfect self control. He stood and began dressing, seemingly unaffected by what had transpired moments before. He didn’t even look back at Grantaire when he announced, “I have to get back to work.”

Grantaire left wordlessly, the tight pain in his throat as he ordered himself not to allow a single tear to well up in his eyes an uncomfortable counterpoint to the ache in his jeans. Enjolras hadn’t let him reach completion this time. Or, rather, Enjolras had come spectacularly under Grantaire’s careful ministrations and hadn’t bothered asking if it was good for the other man as well.

It was alright, Grantaire told himself. He wasn’t there to live out some sexual fantasy. He was there to pleasure a man who deserved the best of everything the world could offer. Grantaire was the best of absolutely nothing, but he knew he was a damn good lover.

He took a cold shower when he got home. Once, early on in their... arrangement, he had been sent home without climaxing and attempted to finish the job on his own. The scene he played out was similar to what he had just experienced, while simultaneously being completely different. In his mind, Enjolras was gentle. He took the time to find where Grantaire liked to be touched, his beautiful fingers tracing aimless patterns. In the fantasy, they kissed- not a war of tongues, not deliciously painful bites, but soft presses of lips and intermingled air. Far from achieving the release he needed, Grantaire had ended up sobbing for hours. Now, he’d learned to just take a shower.

Every night that Enjolras brought him home after meetings, he would stay in bed just a moment too long, praying to any god that was listening that tonight would be the night he was asked to stay. Clearly no god was listening, least of all Apollo.

He knew this was destroying him. He’d lost weight. His alcohol consumption had increased. He was finding it difficult to tap into any emotions other than numbness and pain to find inspiration for his art. He went to class even less frequently than he had before, and his grades suffered accordingly.

Although they knew nothing of what went on between the leader and his loyal cynic, their friends noticed Grantaire’s deterioration as well. Bahorel tried to encourage him to come to the gym with him more often. Courfeyrac demanded he set down his bottle long enough each night to eat at least a small amount of actual food. Jehan brought him tea and sat with him in the back corner of the Musain. They used to have wonderful conversations about literature before all this started. Jehan could see that Grantaire desperately wanted to be able to enjoy the company of his friends as he once did. But something that he wouldn’t share with them was slowly killing him.

————————————————————

When Grantaire first attended a meeting of the Friends of the ABC, he was in his second year at university. The founding members, far from needing time to adjust to the changes of going away to school, had formed the student group within the first month of their freshman year. Halfway through their first semester, they were all acing their classes and had built a solid foundation for an organization that had already held several special events.

Their success only made Grantaire feel worse about himself. He was a year older than they and had made no connections whatsoever at the school. His only friend here was Bahorel, who he met at the gym, and who had dragged him to his first meeting of these absurdly determined idealists.

Grantaire knew he was a mess. He drank too much, he didn’t concentrate in class, he didn’t have enough self confidence to stick with anything long enough to be good at it. He knew he didn’t deserve to be in the same room as the students who called themselves the Friends of the ABC, determined individuals who would surely change the world in ways Grantaire couldn’t even imagine.

Still, he attended the meetings.

Falling in love with the beautiful and charismatic leader of the group was the stupidest thing he had ever done. He knew it would only lead to endless heartbreak. He knew that Enjolras would never look at him with anything other than frustration, disdain, or outright loathing.

But at the same time that Enjolras had ruined Grantaire- ruined his ability to be satisfied by casual hookups, ruined his desire for a relationship with anyone other than the unattainable leader (not that anyone was particularly interested in Grantaire anyway), ruined his desperate desire to simply turn away from the injustice in the world and hide from it down a bottle- he had also saved him.

Grantaire failed out of university the fall semester after he met the Friends of the ABC. The following year, he got back into the university on academic probation. When he got back into school, he tried getting sober. He was one day short of a month before he went out and got blackout drunk. He was a human dumpster fire who was in his sixth year of undergraduate school while his friends had all moved on to jobs and graduate degrees. But he kept trying, because he knew that this group of idealists led by a god on earth believed he had some sort of value.

When Enjolras first initiated their sexual relationship, Grantaire was sure that this would finally be the push he needed to get himself together. Enjolras didn’t just value him in the way he valued all humans; he clearly thought Grantaire had something special. And if this god among men could love Grantaire, surely he could learn to love himself.

But Grantaire quickly realized that Enjolras didn’t love him. He enjoyed his body, or rather, he enjoyed what his body could do. Enjolras still snapped at him at meetings, still shot him disapproving glares when Grantaire’s drinking exceeded what should be his nightly limit, still made it absolutely clear that he thought Grantaire was a complete waste of a human being.

And somehow, this was even more painful than how things were before. Knowing that Enjolras had found a base use for his body while still despising his mind hurt Grantaire more deeply than he could imagine. Perhaps it had something to do with the sound of his father’s voice echoing in his head, telling him that he was stupid and ugly inside and out, and that no one would ever want him around. Or maybe it was memories of his ex-boyfriend, who would sometimes beat him and sometimes use him for sex, then send him to sleep on the couch with the reminder that he was only kept around because he was a decent lay. Or maybe it was just because of Enjolras. His idol, his Apollo, his hero. Who now knew Grantaire more intimately than anyone and still hadn’t found anything worthwhile within him.

Whatever the reason, the relationship- the arrangement, rather; relationship implied some sort of connection that clearly could never exist between them- was tearing Grantaire apart. But he would never think of stopping something that he could do for his idol. No, he would gladly let this go on until it drove him to his death. 


	2. Enjolras

Enjolras was furious at himself for falling in love with Grantaire. They’d been arguing when he first realized it- of course they were. And in the middle of the shouting, Enjolras realized that he would very much like to kiss the other man into silence. Then Grantaire had made some offhand self deprecating comment, as he so often did, and Enjolras realized that the twinge he felt in his chest whenever the cynic said such things was a mixture of sorrow and frustrated helplessness. Grantaire was brilliant and talented and kindhearted and the fact that he had such a low opinion of himself was devastating and- and Enjolras realized that he was well and truly hooked.

At first, he tried to ignore the revelation. Certainly, nothing had changed between them because of it. Grantaire still thought him an idiotic idealist. They still argued at every turn. But gods, he wished it could change.

He saw the way Grantaire acted with the rest of the group. The boxing practice with Bahorel. The discussions of literature with Jehan. When not addressing Enjolras, Grantaire was warm and funny and incredibly kind. Enjolras was self aware enough to know that he wasn’t a particularly nice person- good, yes, but too consumed with the burning fire of justice to ever be considered simply warm. Of course, it made sense that Grantaire wouldn’t like him. Yet he still wished that one day, Grantaire would be half as fond of him as he was of the others.

In spite of Grantaire’s obvious disdain for Enjolras and disregard for the work of his political group, Enjolras realized that there was one thing Grantaire seemed to like about him. Interspersed with his rambling political criticisms, Grantaire often commented favorably on Enjolras’ appearance. He called him Apollo, told him he resembled a marble statue not just in his coldness but in his perfectly sculpted features, compared his long blond hair to the sun or spun gold.

Enjolras recognized that he was objectively good-looking, but having the man he loved tell him so felt better than he imagined it would. Over time, he began to imagine what it would be like to reach out to Grantaire on a physical level, even though he had failed so completely at reaching him emotionally.

Enjolras had had boyfriends- and even a girlfriend- in his younger years. None of them had lasted long, as they all quickly tired of his political rants and insistence that fighting for justice was more important than going to a kegger. Sex was pleasurable from a biological perspective, but Enjolras found that he took no true enjoyment from the act. After a lengthy discussion with Courfeyrac, who was as loyal a friend as Combeferre and more experienced in matters of the bedroom, Enjolras came to the conclusion that he was demisexual- unable to fully enjoy sex unless he had a strong emotional attachment to his partner.

And attached to Grantaire he was, though he seemed to be utterly incapable of conveying that to the cynic- or even having a conversation with him that didn’t end in shouting. Still, it occurred to him that physical intimacy with Grantaire could be extremely enjoyable for both of them. Grantaire would get a chance to enjoy the body of his beautiful “Apollo” and Enjolras would be able to share some sort of connection with him.

Grantaire refused to actively participate in the work of the Friends of the ABC. Petitions were nothing but a waste of paper, he said, and students only stopped by when they were tabling to see if they had free candy. He did attend their larger rallies, usually sitting far away from the rest of the group and drinking from a flask. He always told them afterwards that he was there as a sort of bouncer, to make sure no one got themselves shot.

But the one thing Grantaire would do for the group was art. Enjolras truly loved Grantaire’s work. Though he knew nothing of the technicalities of what made art good, he knew that Grantaire’s work was both visually appealing and emotionally stirring. He therefore directly asked him to help create a poster for an event they were hosting. It was months before anything sexual happened between them, Enjolras recalled, but still Grantaire had said yes at once. Since then, he had become the unofficial graphic designer of the group, making posters and fliers with whatever slogans or statistics Enjolras told him to include and weaving small but powerful drawings into the designs.

It was on a night when the pair had stayed late after a meeting to work on a flier that Enjolras broached the subject. He was nervous, of course, but he told himself that this wasn’t actually like flirting (which he knew he couldn’t do at all.) This was a business proposition; an exchange of services. He didn’t have to try to convince Grantaire to like him. That would have been a hopeless endeavor. All he had to do was make Grantaire desire him, and he was sure he was already more than halfway there.

“I’ve kept you late,” he declared once they had finally finished going over the designs. “I hope I haven’t disrupted any other plans?”

“None whatsoever, Fearless Leader,” Grantaire replied, stretching like a cat as he stood. Enjolras knew that Grantaire had been a dancer once, before self doubt and alcohol had stolen that away from him along with so much else. His body still retained the graceful fluidity, even when slightly tipsy. “Just spending the evening in the company of a bottle of wine. Perhaps several.”

“I see.”

Grantaire’s posture slumped. Apparently he had taken Enjolras’ words as an expression of judgement. Insulting him certainly wouldn’t entice him to engage in intimate activities. Enjolras would just have to make a go for it. He told himself there was no delicate way to propose a hookup anyway.

“You could always come back to my flat with me,” he suggested.

Grantaire chuckled darkly. Enjolras braced himself for taunts, for being told the very suggestion was absurd. “And what, dear Apollo, would we do there? Have you not had opportunity enough to chastise me for my bad behavior in recent days? Would you like us to discuss the headlines of the day, so you can practice strengthening your arguments as I pick them apart?”

“Shut up, Winecask.” Enjolras was embarrassed to feel a blush creeping onto his face. Shock overrode his discomfort, however, when he realized that Grantaire had, indeed, shut up. Even more than that, he had laid a large hand ever so gently on Enjolras’s shoulder.

“Why, Apollo? What did you have in mind? I’m sorry for my jibes, but you must admit it’s a rather unexpected request.”

“You find me attractive, do you not?”

The blunt statement certainly had its desired effect, turning the embarrassment onto Grantaire, who flushed crimson from the roots of his hair to past where the frayed neck of his t-shirt covered him. “I- well, Enjolras, I mean- everyone finds you attractive. You can’t blame me for that, can you?”

“No, of course not.” Enjolras smiled. Perhaps this wouldn’t be so terribly difficult after all. “But I once again repeat my offer of an alternative evening activity.”

“Are you propositioning me?” The confusion in Grantaire’s face made Enjolras feel vaguely sick. The cynic clearly considered them such enemies that the idea was preposterous. But from the glint in his eyes, Enjolras could tell that it was also far from unwelcome.

“I am.”

Grantaire kissed him then, and it was nothing like Enjolras had imagined. It was soft and tender and- well, yes the taste of alcohol had been expected, but- it felt filled with such warm emotion, emotion that Enjolras knew the other man didn’t feel towards him, and it hurt. So Enjolras did what he always did when faced with a problem. He took charge.

He pushed against Grantaire, digging the other man’s back into the edge of the table while tugging at his unruly hair. In moments, the uncomfortable gentleness was gone, replaced with a burning passion that Enjolras had never before known. This was what people meant when they spoke of desire, of fireworks and explosions and an all consuming rush.

He remembered fiercely kissing Grantaire for several long moments, until the dark haired man pushed him back and groaned “Bedroom” in a ragged gasp. He remembered they walked quickly to his flat a few blocks away, not touching as they did so. That hurt, he recalled. The idea that although they were clearly about to engage in sexual activity, holding hands while they walked there was somehow too intimate.

And then they were inside and Grantaire was everywhere. Gently peeling away his Apollo’s clothes, then tearing at his own. Kissing, biting, stroking, finding spots on Enjolras’ body that Enjolras himself didn’t know would react that way. He was on his knees in front of the mattress, his mouth sinfully occupied while a hand reached up to continue its delicious dance across Enjolras’ chest.

When Enjolras reached completion, he understood for the first time why people enjoyed sexual activity with a partner.

As soon as he managed to catch his breath, he reached down and seized Grantaire by the forearms, pulling the other man onto the bed beside him. He kissed his way down Grantaire’s torso before kneeling between his legs.

Grantaire stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “Enjolras, you don’t need to do that.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Enjolras asked. “The point of a sexual encounter is for both parties to enjoy it, yes?”

“I did enjoy it. My god, Apollo, this is-“ he trailed off, and Enjolras couldn’t decipher the emotion in his eyes other than the obvious sexual desire. “This is more than I could ever have imagined.” (Had Grantaire imagined this? Imagined them being intimate? No, Enjolras was flattering himself. Grantaire meant the comment in a broad theoretical sense. He thought Enjolras beautiful, but also cold and cruel. He would never have imagined this.)

“Clearly you desire more,” Enjolras stated plainly, glancing down at Grantaire’s straining erection. “I may not be quite as experienced as Courfeyrac in these matters, but even I know that the function of a hookup is to grant all parties sexual satisfaction.”

For a brief moment, Grantaire looked as though he has been punched in the gut. The excited happiness that had been dancing in his eyes moments before suddenly vanished. Even his desire seemed to recede, leaving behind something raw and vulnerable.

Then he took a deep breath and grinned, his signature crooked smile in place, though the cheeky look didn’t extend to his eyes. “Right, then, oh great Apollo. Come rock the world of this mere mortal who lies prostrate before you.”

Enjolras obeyed eagerly. At first, he worried that he wouldn’t be skilled enough to pleasure Grantaire, who had certainly had much more experience (though Enjolras tried very hard not to think of that, especially because it made his chest feel uncomfortably tight.) But the curses, pleas, and obscure quotations delivered in a ragged tone and the absolutely glorious expressions on Grantaire’s face made it clear that he was more than living up to Grantaire’s needs.

When they were finished, Enjolras lay back down beside Grantaire, who immediately rolled over to face him. With a large hand covered in ink stains, Grantaire stroked lazy patterns onto Enjolras’ naked chest. Enjolras wanted desperately to curl into his arms, to stay entwined as lovers do. But they were not lovers; they were each other’s quick lay. As soon as Enjolras spoke, the spell between them would be broken. Grantaire would go back to his cynicism and the softness of this moment would evaporate.

There had to be a way to preserve the closeness between them. Enjolras had to think of something before Grantaire stood to leave. He thought back to earlier in the day, to their discussion of posters and fliers for the ABC’s upcoming protest. Grantaire had been actively involved in their discussions, and had even offered several genuinely helpful suggestions. He had also, as usual, signed up to design the printed material. Perhaps, if Enjolras began writing the text of the pamphlets, Grantaire would stay to work on the artistic designs. They could work together, like true comrades... friends... partners. All those words to describe the bond Enjolras wished they shared.

He sat up slowly, still keeping his body pressed against Grantaire’s. “I have to get to work on writing up what we discussed at the meeting tonight.”

Grantaire rolled away, leaving Enjolras suddenly feeling cold. “I’ll be out of your beautiful hair, then.” He dressed quickly, not looking at Enjolras. He walked out of the bedroom without a further word. Was this how hook-ups usually ended? Enjolras wanted to stop him, to pull him back to the bed, to beg him to stay.

But no, he had offered and Grantaire had refused. Enjolras couldn’t push this; it would only make Grantaire dislike him more than he so clearly already did. Still, he couldn’t just allow the evening to end without another word.

“Grantaire!”

His voice was louder than he intended, his tone slightly breathless, and oh gods, he was truly awful at this, wasn’t he?

Grantaire stopped but didn’t turn around. “Did you need something else, Oh Great Apollo?” His voice was strange, tight. Was he already regretting what they’d just done?

“Perhaps we could... do this again sometime?” Enjolras felt the smallest shred of relief that Grantaire remained facing away from him. At least he couldn’t see the embarassment radiating off of Enjolras’ body, though he could surely hear it in his voice.

“Any time you wish, Enjolras.” He was gone before Enjolras could say another word.  
—————

Perhaps Enjolras should have ended it there, but he didn’t. He kept inviting Grantaire back to his apartment and hoping that over time, Grantaire would warm to his person as much as he clearly delighted in Enjolras’ body.

It didn’t happen.

In fact, the very opposite seemed to be occurring and Enjolras had no idea how to stop it. Grantaire seemed to be less and less enthusiastic with each passing night. Eventually, he didn’t even allow Enjolras to bring him to completion, gently pushing his hands away and leaving after a moment of lying quietly by Enjolras’ side.

Some nights, Enjolras fantasized about simply wrapping Grantaire in his arms, or grabbing his wrist as he tried to leave. He thought of their first kiss, and of how for a moment it had tasted of love, not lust.

But every night, Grantaire showed up to their meetings with a new cynical comment, a roll of his eyes at Enjolras’ plans, a glass of wine more than he usually had. Or two. Or three.

He was drinking more. He looked tired. Their arguments escalated more quickly at meetings.

Enjolras watched as the man he loved spiraled further into darkness. As Grantaire distanced himself further from their friends, it occurred to Enjolras that their frequent nighttime activities might be the most social interaction that Grantaire was having. Perhaps Enjolras could help him. He could stop them one night, hold Grantaire’s hands gently instead of letting them dance their delicious dance across Enjolras’ body, and ask him what was going on. Like a friend.

He didn’t. He tried, but the words always got stuck in his throat. Once, he had gotten as far as, “Grantaire, I’m worried about you.”

Grantaire had bitten down hard on his nipple and murmured, “Oh, never fear, Apollo. I may not be able to save the world, but I swear I’ll never fail to make you feel absolutely spectacular in this room.”

That wasn’t what he meant. Grantaire was deliberately trying to distract him. Enjolras hadn’t even enjoyed sex prior to having it with Grantaire; he was strong enough not to fall for this. But what if Grantaire didn’t want him to? Grantaire was not his friend. Grantaire didn’t like him. Of course, Grantaire didn’t want him prying into his business.

Enjolras didn’t ask again. He wouldn’t push, he decided, but keep things going as they had been and if Grantaire ever needed anything that he would allow Enjolras to provide, Enjolras would be there.

He prayed that would be enough.

He prayed he wasn’t making things worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a few chapters left to this, but it is a complete short story. The rest will be coming soon.
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed, and hope you had a good Barricade Day.
> 
> (Hey also. We’re a fandom of people who admire revolutionaries. Hit me up if you want to do activism/volunteer stuff. Nothing would make Monsieur Hugo happier than to know he’s inspiring continued good works. Let’s create a network!)
> 
> “Just as fires light up the whole city, revolutions light up the whole human race. And what revolution shall we bring about? ... The revolution of the true. From the political point of view, there is one single principle: the sovereignty of man over himself. This sovereignty of myself over myself is called Liberty." ~Enjolras, Victor Hugo


	3. Grantaire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends!
> 
> Just a short update this time. The next chapter is a big one and will be up on Tuesday or Wednesday. Here, have some Sad R.

It had been a good day. Some member of parliament had done something bad and people- Les Amis De l’ABC chief among them- had been protesting for his resignation. There had been speeches, petitions, letter writing, posters which Grantaire had painted. He couldn’t remember the details or what exactly the man had done, but he was sure he knew several hours and several drinks ago.

Today, the man had resigned and an impromptu celebration at Courfeyrac’s had assembled. Enjolras was there, which was rare at their more wild revels (which, the ones at Courfeyrac’s always were). And he was clearly having a fantastic time, which was all but unheard of.

He wasn’t drinking; no, of course the great leader of Les Amis would never risk damaging his perfect mind. But he was talking animatedly and laughing and even dancing briefly with Courfeyrac and then with Feuilly.

If Grantaire were a smarter man- or perhaps just a happier man- he would be capitalizing on his idol’s good cheer, perhaps trying to get in a dance himself, or at least a pleasant conversation. Instead, he was hanging toward the back of the room, drinking heavily and wondering how he could ever hope to measure up to Justice in Enjolras’ heart.

There was a point in the evening when he knew he’d officially had Too Much. It was after he was dragged out of his corner by Jehan and forced to attempt the Cha Cha Slide, which had ended in him falling gracelessly on his ass. But it was before Enjolras came over to talk to him. If Grantaire had to put an exact moment on it, he’d say it was when he poured himself a glass of wine (thankfully white) directly onto the floor because he missed the glass and decided thereafter to just drink from the bottle directly. It was more than half empty anyway, and Courfeyrac had plenty of other drinks for the rest of the guests.

By the time Enjolras made his way over to him, Grantaire knew he was dangerously intoxicated. He decided that his brain was too fuzzy to care. Enjolras had shot him several pointed looks during the course of the evening. Without Enjolras having to utter a word, Grantaire clearly heard him ask, “What the hell are you doing?” “Are you planning on stopping anytime soon?” And worse, Enjolras said through his eyes, “You’re disgusting, Grantaire.” “If you’re going to just drink yourself into oblivion, do it at your flat. No one wants you here anyway.” Now, with Enjolras right in front of him, he knew that the words would be even more agonizing than the ones he had inferred from across the room.

“Grantaire, I think you’ve had enough for the night.”

Oh, Grantaire was drunk indeed. Through his distorted hearing and his swimming brain, Enjolras’ tone sounded gentle, kind. It was a voice he used very rarely, and never at Grantaire.

“-even hear me? Grantaire, you’re worrying me. This is a good night, Grantaire. We won. We helped bring about meaningful change.”

“An’ I’m happy for you, ‘Pollo. Issn’t my win, though, yeah? It’s the ABC’s.”

“Of which you are a part,” Enjolras answered, still in that tone that he certainly could not be using.

Grantaire didn’t know how to react. Even if he were sober, he was sure he wouldn’t know how to react. He took another swig from his bottle. Enjolras said something else, but Grantaire couldn’t hear it through the sound of his own swallowing and the low rushing sound in his ears. The look on his face when he walked away from Grantaire matched the impossible sound in his voice. It was sad. It was caring.

Grantaire took another drink.

After that, the night was almost completely lost to him. More wine. Enjolras in deep conversation with Combeferre. Vomiting in the kitchen sink while Bahorel held him steady. Enjolras yelling at him, probably calling him useless, but the only words Grantaire caught were “open your eyes!”. A car ride. Bright lights. Someone- Joly?- telling Enjolras that “it’s going to be fine, but you have to stay calm or they’re going to make us leave”.

Then nothing.


	4. Enjolras & Grantaire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, friends. The big one. There will be three more sections after this, but this is the longest. The one where they *gasp* use Words to express Feelings!!! (Let’s have a round of applause for two highly loquacious people learning how to actually talk...)

Grantaire woke up in an uncomfortable hospital bed, his head throbbing painfully as the bright lights and beeping monitors assaulted his senses. He heard someone shift into alertness when he forced his eyes open and turned toward the sound. He expected Jehan. It was usually Jehan, with a gentle and conforting expression planted firmly on their face but anxiety clearly dancing in their eyes. If not Jehan, it would be Joly, ready to leap into “Doctor Mode”. Or Bahorel, feeling guilty for not having stopped whatever had happened the previous night before it ended in a hospital visit. Or once it had been Courfeyrac, which had been horribly awkward.

It was none of them.

It was Enjolras.

Grantaire felt the immediate urge to throw up. Of course, that would only serve to make the worst situation imaginable even worse, so he took a deep, slow breath and tried to steady himself.

“Hi, Apollo,” he croaked.

“Good morning, Grantaire.” Enjolras’ tone was unrecognizable. It was quiet, almost gentle, but filled with something horrible. Was it hate? Had Enjolras finally passed from disgust and anger into full hatred?

Grantaire looked down at the IV line sticking out of his arm. He knew the lecture- whether delivered through shouting or cold, disgusted fury- was coming any moment. He decided that he couldn’t watch Enjolras’ perfect mouth shaping the words that he knew he would carry in his heart the rest of his miserable life.

But the words didn’t come. Enjolras sat there in silence for minutes that dragged on like years. For one wild moment, Grantaire wondered if the man had actually turned to marble.

The silence had gone on for far too long. Though he didn’t dare look up, Grantaire could feel Enjolras shifting uncomfortably in his plastic chair.

Without thinking, he blurted out, “Are you mad at me?” A stupid question, he knew. Of course, Enjolras was mad at him. Enjolras was almost always mad at him, and Grantaire’s behavior over the past twenty four hours had been even more disgraceful than usual. Enjolras hated him.

He deserved it.

He clenched his eyes shut, tensing for the verbal blow he knew was about to come crashing down.

“Of course I’m not mad, Grantaire,” Enjolras replied, something resembling horror clearly audible in his tone. “I’m just worried. Extremely worried, actually.”

“Well that’s precisely why I thought you’d be mad,” mumbled Grantaire, flushing with embarrassment. It was bad enough that he’d bothered Enjolras with this mess of a person that he was; hearing it out loud was agonizing. “You’re always so busy, doing important things for your causes. You don’t need to waste time being worried because of my bullshit.”

“I really don’t understand how you can possibly think so poorly of me.” Enjolras’ tone was steeped in the anger and disappointment that Grantaire had grown so used to, but that unrecognizable tone with which he’d said ‘good morning’ was still there. Finally, Grantaire looked up at Enjolras’ face, set into a stony expression, but with sadness clearly visible in his intense blue eyes. He realized with a start that the strange tone wasn’t hatred. It was hurt.

“Apollo, I think the world of you,” Grantaire choked out, suddenly very confused by this conversation. “You have to know that.”

“Do I? I know I’m focused on my work, Grantaire, too focused at times. But I thought I’d made it abundantly clear that my friends come first. Always.”

“You have,” Grantaire assured him. Everyone knew how deeply Enjolras cared for his friends.

“Then why on earth would you think that I would be angry at you for making me worry?”

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly call us friends.” Grantaire managed to keep his tone fairly casual. Of course, this was a fact that stung- stabbed, really,- but Grantaire had had years to get used to it and had learned to address it without visible signs of pain.

Enjolras, meanwhile, looked as though he’d been slapped in the face. “You don’t consider me a friend? I suppose that makes sense, really. I should have drawn that conclusion myself, what with the way you flee every night after we... finish.” His words had trailed off into an awkward muttering and his face was flushed blotchily. They’d never spoken about their sexual arrangement since the first time Enjolras had invited Grantaire home with him.

But Grantaire couldn’t spare any energy being delighted at the uncomfortable blushing of a marble statue. He was fully focused on Enjolras’ statement. “The way I flee? What is that even supposed to mean?” He meant to sound angry or frustrated. He knew his voice simply sounded flat and dead.

“It means we finish our sex act and you leave,” Enjolras stated, clearly still uncomfortable verbalizing their actions.

“Well what would you have me do? Beg you for scraps of attention? Polish your boots? I know I’ve offered before, but you’ve got to actually tell me if you want me to openly grovel.” And there was the anger. Now that it had started, Grantaire wasn’t sure how to make it stop. “Do you expect me to debase myself that far, oh great Apollo, that once you’re finished with me, I should hang around and see if you have any other needs you want met? And by the way, ‘we finish’ is an exaggeration of what happens most nights. It’s more like the X rated version of service with a smile, but whatever. Of course we’re not friends, Enjolras! If I’m not blowing you, you can barely stand to be in the same room as me. If this was anything resembling a friends with benefits situation, you’d talk to me at meetings, debate with me instead of just yelling at me, but it’s not and-”

“R!”

Grantaire was immediately stunned into silence. Enjolras had never used the nickname before. It was always “Grantaire” or simply an eyeroll and a disparaging comment.

“I never asked you to stay because I didn’t want to put you in an uncomfortable position. I know you think that I’m naïve, that my ideas are foolish, that you don’t actually like me as a person. I am acutely aware that this is casual sex because you find my body appealing no matter how much you disdain my mind. So no, I’ve never asked you to stay. I would never purposefully ask more of you than I knew you were interested in giving.”

Sonehow, though the shock and utter confusion at Enjolras’ words, Grantaire managed to stammer out a response. “There is nothing you could ask of me that I wouldn’t give.”

Enjolras scoffed and Grantaire felt the jagged pieces of his heart shatter even further. “Don’t mock me, Grantaire. My smallest attempts to gain a position in your life outside of the bedroom have always been rebuffed. Why would I ever think that a request for you to stay the night would be something you wanted?”

This conversation was too confusing. It was compounding the ache in Grantaire’s head and he was starting to feel nauseous again. He couldn’t do this right now. He couldn’t. He wanted nothing more than to go to sleep and wake up to a world that made sense. But Enjolras was sitting by his bedside. Enjolras had said he was worried. Enjolras had referenced “attempts to gain a position in Grantaire’s life outside of the bedroom”.

Grantaire knew that he had to say something, that he had to reject this absolutely preposterous suggestion that he was in any way uninterested in Enjolras. But he was exhausted and hungover and oh so terribly sad and eloquence was far beyond his current capacity. And so he opened his mouth and mumbled, “I fucking worship you. I’ve told you more times than I can count. I call you a god, for shit’s sake. How can you not know that I would do anything you asked of me, take any scrap of attention you would deign to toss my way?”

“Of course I’ve heard your ridiculous flattery,” Enjolras answered, now looking less frustrated and more sad and confused. “But it’s not as if you mean any of those things.”

“What the actual shitting hell?” Grantaire nearly sobbed, and yes, eloquence had now gone completely out the window. “I tell you all the time that I think you’re perfection on Earth. I spend months acting as your living sex toy and dirty little secret combined and you, what? Think that I’m not serious?”

“Why would I possibly think you were serious?” Were there tears in Enjolras’ flawless eyes? There couldn’t be. It must have been Grantaire’s own tears clouding his vision. “Grantaire, you are the most kind, gentle, and loving person I have ever met. You buy chocolates and flowers for your friends just to make them smile. You go out of your way to make strangers happy. If you were in love with someone, I know you would shower them with affection. You would be the boyfriend that makes everyone simultaneously envious and faintly nauseous. You treat me like I’m an enormous joke. You mock me at every turn. Yes, of course I’ve heard you proclaim your love for me- in ridiculously theatrical tones, usually after several too many drinks, and always coupled with some sort of barb or absurd classical reference. That’s how a man like you treats someone he can’t stand, not someone he loves.”

Grantaire stared at Enjolras in open mouthed shock. It was clear to Enjolras that he had a dozen responses to what he’d just heard and didn’t know where to start. Finally, he managed a single choked sentence. “You wouldn’t want that sort of love from me.”

“I’m demisexual,” Enjolras stated bluntly. From the moment they first met, their entire relationship had contained far too many words that often led nowhere- or apparently to enormous misunderstandings. Extreme directness, Enjolras decided, was a strategy he had not yet tried. “The precise definition of demisexuality is someone who does not experience sexual attraction until a strong emotional bond is formed with the other person.”

“I don’t think that hate sex is what people mean by ‘strong emotional bond’,” Grantaire replied immediately, still looking confused and sad and gods, why did he always have to be so difficult?

“It most certainly is not what people mean,” agreed Enjolras. “Certainly not what I myself would define as the type of connection required for me to feel sexual interest.”

“And yet all of this began because you propositioned me, Apollo. So forgive me if I don’t think your definition applies in this case.”

“Well unfortunately, the aforementioned emotional bond doesn’t necessarily have to be reciprocated for me to desire someone,” Enjolras mumbled. His face was heating up now, he could feel it. Oh well. Dignity be damned, if he could just make Grantaire stop looking so heartbroken. “I’ve been extremely... fond of you for quite some time. I’ve tried to improve our friendship but we always just end up fighting. You’ve said enough about my physical appearance, though, that I felt confident that you at least liked my body more than you liked the rest of me. I thought maybe physical intimacy could be enjoyable for us. And perhaps it would even lead to an improvement of our relationship as a whole. But it’s obviously not working at all how I intended. You’re more upset at me than ever and I feel that you’re not even enjoying the... the sex anymore.” Even with the sensitive subject matter, Grantaire snorted softly when Enjolras stumbled over the word ‘sex’. He felt his blush deepen even more. “I’ve never known that physical intimacy could be so good. But I hate that I can’t give you the same gratification. You always take charge, set the pace, bring me to completion, and then stop. And you lie there for a few minutes and I always imagine that this time you’ll just stay. Or you’ll start touching me again and let me pleasure you. You did at first. I thought you enjoyed it. I know that I’m not experienced, probably not very skillful, but I-”

“Alright, no,” Grantaire interrupted. “I’m stopping you there, Enjolras, because now you’re talking nonsense. I could not possibly care less about your prowess in bed. When you care about someone, the experience is being close to them, sharing a space with them. Not about the motion of their ocean or whatever. Being able to satisfy a need of yours has been an honor, especially since we all know I don’t bring all that much to the table. And those minutes before I leave are the highlight of my week. I stretch them out as long as I think I can, but I won’t overstay my welcome. You’ve only kicked me out once, but it was one of the worst feelings in the world. I’d like to never repeat it.”

“I have never kicked you out!” Enjolras knew he was nearly shouting, but this conversation was maddening. Grantaire was maddening. Why on earth had Enjolras gone and done something as irresponsible as falling in love with him?

“You did.” Instead of feeding off of Enjolras’ escalating tone as he usually did, Grantaire was nearly whispering. It made Enjolras shut up and listen to him at once. “The first time you brought me home. You literally called it a hookup halfway through- which I know that’s what it was, but still. Ouch. And then when we were done you declared it was time for you to get to work on some leaflet. In other words, ‘Fuck off, Grantaire. You’ve fulfilled your use for the night.’ And that’s fine, I get it. But please don’t insult me by sitting here now and saying you’ve been wanting more closeness all this time.”

“I wanted you to stay. We weren’t dating, weren’t anything, so I couldn’t just ask you to lie in bed with me. I had to think of a reason to make you stay. You were going to do the art and the layout of those leaflets, so I thought we could work on them together. I thought we could have fun. And then it wouldn’t just be sex, it would be a friendship, with something extra. So I made the suggestion and you just got up and left. You made it perfectly clear that you had no interest in staying longer than it took to achieve sexual gratification. You were uncomfortable, I was properly chastised for asking more than you were willing to give, and I never pushed you on it again.”

Through the confusion and hurt that had consumed Grantaire’s expression for the entire conversation, Enjolras noticed a flash of something much more pleasant. Something warmer. Perhaps, hope? “You wanted me to stay and work on it with you. You wanted us to have fun. Apollo, I-”

“Don’t call me that,” Enjolras interrupted sharply. Grantaire’s face fell, the glimmer of hope utterly extinguished, and Enjolras felt guilt twist in his chest. Gods, he had done so much damage to this man.

“Sorry, Enjolras. I didn’t realize the name bothered you so much.”

“It doesn’t,” Enjolras answered, praying that his fury at the situation and at his own obvious failure at handling every aspect of his relationship with Grantaire wouldn’t translate as anger at the man himself. “It’s just- you believe it, don’t you? You believe that I’m better than you?”

“Of course,” Grantaire replied easily. Enjolras realized that the lack of pain in his voice, his complete calm acceptance of his perceived worthlessness, was more heartbreaking than if Grantaire had uttered it as a terrible confession. “You’ve got me there on two fronts, Enjolras. First, that you’re better than everyone. And second, that everyone is better than me.”

“You’re wrong. How do I convince you that you’re wrong, Grantaire?” His voice sounded desperate to his own ears. How could he have missed the depth to which Grantaire’s self loathing had dragged him? How did he have the audacity to say that he loved this man when he had clearly been so blind to his pain? To the pain he was causing?

“You’re more likely to finally convince me that we can change the world. It’s alright, Ap- Enjolras. I know what I am.”

“Do you? Do you honestly know what you are, Grantaire?” Enjolras allowed his voice to take on a slightly challenging tone. If nothing else, he knew that Grantaire would take the bait reflexively, and even a confrontational Grantaire would be better that the absolutely defeated looking man sitting before him.

“I do. I’ve known it since I was a kid, thanks, but you’ve done a great job of reminding me over the years. I’m a waste of space. I’m an annoyance. I don’t stand for anything and I’m not good for anything. Well, good for a laugh at a party, I suppose, and probably a good Phone A Friend if you’re ever on a game show. But I add nothing to the world. In fact, I actively detract.”

“As usual, your assessment is overly negative and completely wrong,” Enjolras stated, his voice lacking the sharp edge that such words would usually carry. “You bring so much to our friendship group, and to the ABC. Your art is beautiful and powerful. Your dissent makes our arguments better and stronger. Everyone enjoys your company. Jehan adores discussing art with you. You’re amazing at cheering Joly up when he’s not feeling well. And I... I’ve never felt anything like what I feel for you.”

Grantaire said nothing. He simply stared at Enjolras as if he’d suddenly sprouted an extra head. Enjolras took a deep, steadying breath and tried again.

“I did this all wrong. I was foolish and a coward and I’ve hurt you because of it.”

Grantaire scoffed. “The great god Apollo, the fire and marble leader Enjolras, a coward? Never. I wish you were sometimes. It would decrease your likelihood of getting shot.”

“But I have been, R,” Enjolras insisted. “I can’t tell you the number of nights I thought about just... just taking your hand. Sitting up and kissing you while you were putting your clothes back on.”

“What is it you wanted from me, Enjolras? When you first invited me home with you, what did you want?” Grantaire’s voice sounded painfully tight, as if at any moment this conversation could cause him to shatter into a thousand pieces that no one- not even Enjolras- could ever hope to glue back together.

“I wanted you to learn to love me. You’ve told me how physically appealing you find me. I thought outside of the meetings, if it was just the two of us, and if we were compatible in a physical sense, you could learn to look past how difficult I am. I’m not oblivious, Grantaire. I know I’m hard to get along with. I know I’m demanding and I struggle with intimacy and I’m- well, I’m not at all the sort of partner that someone like you deserves. But I thought if you gave me a chance, it could be alright.”

“I would do anything for you, Enjolras. Anything. I let you break my heart on a weekly basis because when I got you off, I knew I was doing something good for you. I never had to learn to love you. It’s in my blood. I was born loving you; I just hadn’t met you yet.” The sincerity radiating off of Grantaire tore through Enjolras. How could he not have seen? Feelings this strong should have been obvious. Did other members of their group know? Did Grantaire think that he-?

“Did you think I knew? When we were being physical and you thought I didn’t want you to stay. Did you think I knew you felt this way?”

Grantaire blushed a blotchy scarlet. “Everyone knows, Enjolras. My art professor knows because I- I painted you once.” (He painted Enjolras many more times than once. But gods, this conversation was terrible enough. No need to add that layer of humiliation.) “Courfeyrac asks me if I’m alright when we have really bad fights. Everyone knows. Marius knows! You’re brilliant. Nothing ever gets past you. Of course I thought you knew.”

“Then you thought that I was... getting off with you and sending you away, knowing full well that you had feelings for me?” Enjolras felt sick. “This conversation has gone full circle, Grantaire. I really don’t understand how you can possibly think so poorly of me.”

“We found a use for me,” Grantaire said simply. “After years of me being an annoyance to you, we found something I could do for you. I don’t think poorly of you for that at all.”

“What do you want from me now?” Enjolras asked suddenly, perhaps a little desperately. Clearly, this was going to take time and effort to fix, and he already had some ideas as to how, but right now he needed to simply do whatever it was Grantaire required.

“Can you sign me out?” Grantaire asked. “I’m probably still legally intoxicated, so they won’t let me go on my own, but they’ll let someone else sign responsibility for me. And I promise I’ll stay out of trouble. I won’t drink anymore or stumble into traffic or anything. You won’t need to actually do anything. Just sign me out? Please? I want to go home.”

“Of course.” 


	5. Enjolras

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two short chapters and an epilogue to go. Almost there, friends! Hope you’ve been enjoying the ride.

Enjolras left the room, hating himself a bit for feeling grateful to have a moment to himself away from Grantaire. He found the nurse and told her he’d sign whatever paperwork she needed for him to take Grantaire home. The paperwork was signed, the IV was removed, a speech was given about the services the hospital offered, their connections with recovery programs, and the assurance that Grantaire could come back if he was ever in need.

And then they were alone in a taxi to Grantaire’s apartment. Not a word was spoken the entire ride, except Grantaire’s protests when Enjolras paid for the cab. Enjolras ignored him. They walked into Grantaire’s apartment.

It occurred to Enjolras that he had only been there on a handful of occasions, always just to pick up fliers or drop off tabling material. He’d observed as much as he could on those brief visits- the clutter, the art supplies on every surface, the stacks upon stacks of books. It was chaos, but each bit had meaning. Enjolras had always thought it suited the other man well.

Now, it was in much more of a state of disarray. Empty bottles and dirty plates and half filled cups were amongst the art supplies. The plant in the adorable pot painted with bees, a gift from Jehan, was wilting helplessly. A canvas lay on the floor, showing-

Oh.

Showing Enjolras lying in bed. Grantaire hadn’t included himself in the painting but Enjolras knew the scene immediately. It was in one of those wonderful brief moments when they laid side by side before Grantaire left. Those perfect moments that Enjolras always wanted to go on for hours. That apparently they both wanted to go on for hours.

Grantaire, who was clumsily trying to gather the bottles, didn’t notice at first what had caught Enjolras’ eye. When he did, he swore and dropped half of what he was holding. Wordlessly, Enjolras scooped them up and relieved Grantaire of the few he still had in his grasp. Grantaire was too busy mumbling a series of apologies to protest. After depositing the bottles on the small kitchen counter, Enjolras returned to Grantaire and stood directly in his line of sight, blocking his view of the painting he was staring at miserably.

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” Grantaire mumbled, looking through Enjolras as if he could still see the painting.

“It’s incredible,” Enjolras replied firmly. “Beautifully executed. And always my favorite part of our evenings.”

Grantaire apparently had no response to that, so Enjolras gently guided him toward the corner of the studio that housed a mattress without a box spring or bed frame. He was surprised when Grantaire allowed him to remove his jeans and shoes and push him softly down onto the bed. He was less surprised when Grantaire spoke, once again illustrating his horrendous self esteem and Enjolras’ utter failure to have ever communicated anything to him properly. “You can leave now. Don’t worry about the responsibility form. I promise I won’t get into any trouble.”

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. It wasn’t an invitation, since they weren’t at Enjolras’ flat, and it wasn’t romantic and it wasn’t exciting and it honestly had very little to do with Enjolras at all. But Enjolras had learned from his activism. Sometimes, he had to start his work on a specific issue from a very difficult place. Sometimes the path was complex, filled with setbacks, and took him places he never imagined he would be. When a victory for justice was achieved, his disappointed expectations of the journey were irrelevant.

He took a steadying breath.

“May I stay, Grantaire?”

“I promise I’m alright, Enjolras. I’m not going to die of alcohol poisoning. I’m not going to drink myself right back into the hospital as soon as you leave. I’m fine.”

Enjolras resisted the urge to comment that Grantaire was very much not fine. Instead, he said, “I didn’t ask you if you required me to stay. I asked if I may stay.”

Grantaire blushed. It was blotchy and made his already mismatched featured even less attractive. Enjolras thought it was rather adorable. “I mean, if you want to...”

Enjolras grinned and climbed over Grantaire, sandwiching himself between the other man and the wall, lying on top of the covers. For a moment, Grantaire was motionless. Then, he shifted ever so slightly, still facing the ceiling, so that Enjolras could feel the faint pressure of their arms touching. Enjolras took the physical contact as an invitation and pulled Grantaire into his arms.

For a moment, it was perfect. Grantaire was pressed tightly against him, their arms and legs tangled despite the blanket in between them. Then, Grantaire began trembling. Enjolras ran his hands over the other man’s back, gently carding through his riotous curls, willing him to relax. The shaking grew more violent and suddenly Grantaire was crying, large, helpless sobs that tore through Enjolras’ already battered heart.

And this was perfect too, in its own painful way. Enjolras continued to hold him close, pressing soft kisses to his sweaty temples and whispering words of encouragement. “You’re going to be alright.” “Every one of us adores you and just wants you to be happy.” “I’m here for you.” Words that he thought Grantaire would never want from him.

Finally, the tears faded, but Grantaire still clung to this all-too fallible man whom he’d called Apollo. Again, Enjolras wondered how they both could have misread this situation so badly. He continued his gentle ministrations, praying that Grantaire could feel the depth of emotion in his every move.

Grantaire’s body grew limp and his breathing evened out. Enjolras was sure he was nearly sleeping. Then he spoke, his voice surprisingly steady for someone who would be asleep within minutes. “Will you stay? I don’t want to wake up alone.”

“Of course,” Enjolras assured him. “If you want me to, I’ll make sure you never wake up alone again.”


	6. Grantaire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter. Just an epilogue to go after this.

He woke up alone. Of course he woke up alone.

Enjolras had been so kind that morning, spinning such beautiful lies about how much he valued Grantaire. But he’d only done it because Grantaire had managed to frighten him so badly the night before- Gods, was it really only the night before? Of course he’d left as soon as he’d gotten Grantaire to stop being such an infernal nuisance. This was expected. To hope for anything else would have been absurd. Grantaire curled onto his side, facing the door through which Enjolras had left, away from the dent in the sheets that Enjolras’ perfect body had left behind, and wept.

How did he still have tears left?

The door opened slightly and Enjolras slipped in, clearly trying to be as silent as possible. Shock at seeing the man return had halted Grantaire’s tears immediately. Now he simply lay there, staring up at his idol with big, wet eyes. He was sure he looked absolutely pathetic.

After carefully toeing off his shoes, Enjolras looked toward Grantaire’s bed. His face immediately fell upon seeing Grantaire clearly awake and looking back at him.

He walked over and sat cross-legged on the floor beside Grantaire. The emotion radiating off of him was one Grantaire had never seen from him before; one he didn’t even know Enjolras could feel. Dejection.

“You woke up alone,” he said softly. And, gods, it was in his voice too. A sense of defeat that wasn’t immediately followed by a call to action. Grantaire didn’t ever want to hear the man sound like this again. “I promised that you wouldn’t, and you woke up alone.”

“It’s alright,” Grantaire assured him. A dejected Enjolras was horrifying enough, but for Grantaire to be the cause of it? That was unbearable.

“No, Grantaire, it isn’t.” And there was a spark of the Enjolras fire back. Good. “I’ve done every bit of this wrong and I was trying to fix it and I made you wake up alone. I’m sorry.”

“You’re here now,” Grantaire replied. He was too afraid to ask precisely why Enjolras had come back.

But Enjolras answered that question a moment later when he began unpacking the canvas bag Grantaire hadn’t even noticed he was carrying. “I brought you some food. It’s late in the evening; you slept most of the day and I don’t think you even had very much food at the party last night. You have to eat. You’re always going on about the Thai place across the street from you so I thought I’d run out and pick us up some dinner. You weren’t supposed to wake up while I was gone.”

“Thank you,” Grantaire said, sitting up and taking the container of Pad Thai that Enjolras was holding out to him. And then, because he was a miserably insecure person and the past twenty four hours made so little sense to him, “You don’t have to keep being nice to me.”

Enjolras sighed. “I’d like to be, though. If you’ll let me. I know I don’t deserve it after all I’ve put you through, but if you’ll give me a chance, I could-” He broke off, still looking sad in a way that Grantaire couldn’t comprehend.

They sat in silence for several long minutes, both picking at their noodles disinterestedly. Grantaire wanted to scream, to sing, to do anything to break the wordless tension, but when Enjolras finally spoke, he found himself wishing for the silence again.

“You said you were in love with me. Is that really true?”

Somehow, Grantaire croaked out an answer. “It is the most true thing about me.”

“And- and are you still?” Grantaire had never heard Enjolras stutter before.

“With all my heart.”

Enjolras sat in silence, nodding slowly, clearly steeling himself. Grantaire prayed that he wasn’t about to be thrown out of the ABC.

“The first time we kissed. In the Musian. It felt so amazingly full of love and I didn’t know what to do with it. Because I thought you despised me. Or you just thought I was stupid. But the way you kissed me was- I’d never been kissed like that. And I panicked and I-“

He broke off, clearly unable to put to words what happened next. Grantaire unhelpfully supplied, “You stuck your tongue down my throat and got down to business.”

Now Enjolras looked ashamed, which was even worse than him looking dejected. Somehow it was that that got through to Grantaire, more than any of the awkward, stilted statements Enjolras made at the hospital or the way he had held Grantaire that morning or the two containers of Pad Thai now sitting on the floor beside them, still mostly untouched.

Enjolras cared about him.

Enjolras, who could smooth talk a school administrator into allowing a public demonstration or lead a crowd into battle, but who often stumbled over playful banter with his friends and had never been in a relationship that lasted longer than two weeks, was trying and disastrously failing at expressing that Grantaire was important to him.

For one cruel moment, Grantaire thought of all the insults Enjolras had hurled at him, all the times he’d let Grantaire leave his bed and his flat in the middle of the night, all the tears he’d caused Grantaire to shed, looked at the anguish in Enjolras’ face, and relished in it.

In the next instant, he realized that this was another of those rare situations where he might actually be able to help his dear Apollo. He offered a lifeline to the eloquent public speaker currently drowning in words he couldn’t manage to fit together.

“If you knew then what you know now about my feelings, what would you have done?”

Apparently, Enjolras still couldn’t manage to find the words for what he would have done differently that night in the Musain. Instead, he leaned towards Grantaire and gently rested a hand on the other man’s rough cheek.

The kiss began exactly as Grantaire had tried so hard not to remember their first kiss. It was soft and gentle, full of all the tender emotions that Enjolras couldn’t possibly feel for him. It was heavenly and it was completely unbearable.

Grantaire took a deep breath and prepared to surge forward, to kiss Enjolras soundly and deliciously and chase away all those terrifying what-ifs. Then he remembered that that was exactly what Enjolras said he had done with their first kiss. Was this it, then? The endless circle of their relationship, each person jumping headfirst into physicality because they were too afraid of what was in his heart being rejected?

He laughed at the absurdity of it all, a wild laugh that he knew was tinged with a bit of hysteria. Enjolras immediately pulled back, looking deeply hurt.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, and Grantaire stopped laughing at once. “I should have known better than to think that you- But you said-”

“Enjolras, stop,” Grantaire urged, running one hand through Enjolras’ beautiful golden mane while resting the other on Enjolras’ knee. And oh, this was another thing he’d dreamed of. Casual touches. Being able to put his hands gently on Enjolras for no reason other than to make him feel safe and loved. “I wasn’t laughing at you. I was laughing at both of us. That kiss was so perfect. It felt like a promise of all those things I know I’m not allowed to have with you and my first instinct was to just snog you until I couldn’t remember those daydreams anymore. But a minute ago, you said that that was exactly what you’d done. And...” He trailed off, not knowing what to say or even what exactly was happening.

“Oh,” Enjolras laughed softly. “I don’t think we’re very good at this.”

“I’m still not entirely sure what This is,” Grantaire admitted.

“Well, I was hoping it could be a relationship? Or at least a date?”

For a moment, Grantaire wondered if he was still unconscious from the previous night. But no, his brain could never dream up something this ridiculous and wonderful. “I dont think you’re allowed to go on a first date with someone you’ve been hooking up with for months, E.”

“A relationship, then,” Enjolras said firmly. Grantaire could clearly see how the confidence in his voice didn’t reach his eyes. Clearly, Enjolras wanted this. (Grantaire knew that he would spend countless hours and more than a handful of anxiety attacks trying to piece together why Enjolras wanted it, but for the moment, it was enough that he clearly did.) But for some absurd reason, he seemed unsure if Grantaire wanted him.

Well. Add something else into the category of problems that Grantaire could actually fix.

“You know, Bahorel has said that the reason we argue so much is because we’re both too smart for our own good. But he’s wrong. We’re absolute idiots. Yes, Enjolras, I can honestly say that there is nothing on this Earth that I want more than being in a relationship with you.”

When they kissed again, neither pulled away or pushed for more. Soon, they were once again lying side by side in bed. They skipped over the more physical activities that usually filled their hours together and moved directly to what had secretly been both of their favorite parts of their evenings. They lay in the darkening room for hours, exchanging soft touches and gentle kisses filled with words that surely still needed to be said between them.

(Grantaire was shocked at his own optimism when he told himself that it was alright; they’d have plenty of time to talk through everything properly and clarify what had apparently been months of misunderstandings.)

They talked- yes, talked- about the ABC and their upcoming events. As always, they had wildly differing opinions on many topics, but Grantaire relished in their constructive dialogue, the gentle teasing and genuinely constructive debate that they shared.

It was everything that Grantaire had wanted, and it was nothing like he had imagined. His wildest dreams could never have captured the warmth in Enjolras’ eyes, the way he kept pushing Grantaire’s unruly curls off of his face, the way that all their jagged edges somehow fit together, the hope unfurling throughout Grantaire’s entire being.

And in a blinding flash that Grantaire knew he would have to work hard to defend from the world around them and from Enjolras’ devotion to his causes and from Grantaire’s own insecurities, he was suddenly absolutely sure that they would be alright.


	7. Enjolras & Grantaire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, my friends, we’ve reached the end of this tale. Thank you all for reading, leaving kudos, and reviewing. 
> 
> Also, I realized I hadn’t actually put this in a note yet- the title is taken from one of my favorite of Grantaire’s lines. “Who’s been unhooking the stars without my permission and placing them on the table in the guise of candles?”

“I just messaged you the last block of text to go in the final panel,” Enjolras announced as Grantaire walked in from the kitchen, a mug of cocoa in each hand. He set one down in front of each of them, then sat on the sofa beside Enjolras, pulling his laptop onto his lap.

“Oh, great god of Justice and verbosity,” Grantaire laughed, reading the paragraph that Enjolras had sent to him. “That’s far too many words. “Look, Apollo, here’s the vine I drew.” He turned himself and his laptop and Enjolras leaned over his shoulder to look at the screen.

Just before Grantaire launched into his explanation of his graphic design strategy, Enjolras laid a hand on the small of his back. Grantaire was immediately distracted by the rush of happiness that surged through him. He’d never get used to this, he was sure, and he didn’t think he wanted to. Enjolras touching him in casual intimate ways would always be thrilling. The world was full of stories of people who fell out of love, cheap greeting cards depicting long term relationships as a ball and chain, songs about “praying for the end of time”. Grantaire was sure he would never understand them.

“Hello?” Enjolras’ voice pulled Grantaire from his musings. “R, where did your mind just go?”

“Sorry, E,” Grantaire turned in Enjolras’ arms to kiss the tip of his nose. “Just got caught up in the sensation of being in the arms of a god.” He delivered the remark with a smirk and Enjolras responded with a chuckle and a roll of his eyes. For the first several months of their relationship, however, Enjolras wouldn’t allow commentary like that. He knew that underneath the offhand comments, Grantaire’s self doubt was tearing him apart.

They’d had many long and difficult conversations in the early days of their relationship, each expressing things about the other’s behavior that bothered them. Grantaire’s statements had mostly centered around how he felt that Enjolras would never have time for him, how he would get in the way of all the important things Enjolras wanted to achieve and Enjolras would grow tired and resentful of him.

Enjolras assured him that his passion for justice didn’t mean that he didn’t have room in his heart for more personal intimacy as well. He also told Grantaire frequently that he loved and respected him for his own talents and unique viewpoint, and that he wouldn’t grow tired of the other man. Still, he knew his words would never be enough and he vowed to himself that he would show Grantaire just how much he valued him. Both Combeferre and Courfeyrac had gently chastised him over the years for getting too involved in his work at the expense of his emotional health and relationships with others. He warned Grantaire of this and urged him not to take these shortcomings as signs he didn’t care about Grantaire. Instead, Enjolras suggested, Grantaire should tell him when he was failing to live up to expectations of a good boyfriend, and Enjolras would do his best to adjust his behavior accordingly.

Of course, Enjolras knew it wouldn’t be that easy. And thus came the root of his concerns about Grantaire’s behavior. It was obvious to all who were close to Grantaire that he was struggling with more than just a bit of low self esteem. He seemed to be drowning in darkness, and pouring alcohol on top of an already difficult situation was only making things worse. Grantaire agreed that his mental health had been a stumbling block for years, and admitted that the situation with Enjolras had made things even more difficult. Enjolras told himself he mustn’t feel guilty over this; they’d both utterly failed at communicating and were both working hard to correct their mistakes.

But when Enjolras had carefully suggested that Grantaire reach out for expert help regarding his alcohol consumption, Grantaire had flatly refused. The alcohol was a symptom, he insisted, not a problem in and of itself. Enjolras conceded, then immediately countered with the firm suggestion that Grantaire seek some form of counseling.

To both of their surprise, he had agreed.

It was an exercise in thought retraining, Grantaire told himself, and it was fascinating. He had good things in his life, and good people who genuinely cared about him. With Enjolras, he had the chance to build a loving and supportive relationship with a man who meant a great deal to him. These things, or the potential for them, had always been there. The meetings he had once a week with a trained professional helped him to see them.

Even more importantly, the meetings helped Grantaire realize that he deserved them.

It wasn’t only the meetings or the bond he and Enjolras were building or the obvious work that Enjolras was putting into their relationship. It was each of those things and more. Grantaire made an effort to hide less within his bottles. He resumed his boxing sessions with Bahorel. He met with Jehan for tea at local coffeehouses that were having poetry slams. He built himself back to the best point he’d ever been and then kept climbing. All their friends saw the change in him and worked to be supportive without directly pointing it out.

(Though of course they most certainly did point out the first time they saw Enjolras and Grantaire kiss after a meeting. Pointed. And clapped. And Courfeyrac stood on a table. And Bossuet quite possibly passed Joly a 10 euro note.)

Now, five months into their relationship, they’d reached a harmony that had certainly exceeded Grantaire’s expectations, and Enjolras’ too, though he would never admit to having anything less than complete faith in them. Drawing his attention back to the matter at hand, Enjolras focused his eyes on Grantaire’s laptop and sighed dramatically. “Yes, yes, in the arms of the God of Verbosity, and you are here to guide him to brevity. Before I distracted you with my radiant glory, you were saying something about vines?”

“Right. Vines.” Grantaire pulled the laptop closer to him and focused once again on the text that Enjolras had just written. “Your big text about the bill you’re advocating is inside the pamphlet, right? You have the entire inside, with just a little space for the drawing of the squirrel holding the “Pass The Green Amendment” picket sign. On the back, we have the Vine of Action.”

“The what?” Enjolras interrupted.

“The Vine of Action. It’s- I mean, I didn’t write that on the pamphlet, I just needed something to call the file.” Enjolras was sure Grantaire could feel him silently chuckling, but he barreled on, blushing slightly. “Look, you wanted a graphic representation of action steps, right? So I made a vine. And each leaf has a different action step on it. So it’s a Vine of-” Enjolras was openly laughing now, and Grantaire was giggling through his blushing. “Oh shut up and look at the damn vine.”

“You’re brilliant,” Enjolras assured his boyfriend, burying his face in Grantaire’s curls and kissing him. “Tell me more about the Vine of Action.”

“Okay. Each big leaf has a different action step. They’re varying sizes, so yeah, some of them can hold an action with more words. But this last one you sent me is just too long. And it’s not even an action step, E. You have a whole sentence, with multiple clauses, about the carbon emissions of cheese production. If you want to do an Eat for the Planet campaign, do it. Ferre will cry with joy and Jehan will bake stuff for us the entire campaign. But this is not the place for cheese ranting!”

“If you make a picket sign that says that, I’m going to set all your paintbrushes on fire,” Enjolras quipped, though he was already brainstorming what such a campaign would look like.

“Oh, no, Apollo, I know that look. Let’s finish the campaign for the bill before we take on the entire food industry, okay?”

Enjolras snorted in a very un-godlike fashion. “Am I that transparent?”

“Only to me. And the rest of the ABC. And anyone who’s seen you discuss any topic you’re passionate about.”

“Yes, alright, I’m excitable about justice,” Enjolras laughed. “So if I take out the cheese sentence, what’s left?”

“Using non-dairy substitutes in the place of highly processed dairy products cuts down on carbon emissions. There. That fits on a leaf.”

“Excellent.”

Enjolras was silent for a long moment, waiting patiently as Grantaire formatted the last action step onto the last leaf. Grantaire saved the file and eMailed it to himself. “Alright, I’ll run off copies tomorrow from the art department. Thank goodness for free student printing, yeah?”

“Infinitely helpful,” agreed Enjolras. “R...” And oh, yes, Enjolras really was that transparent. “What if we all picked our favorite environmentally friendly recipes and put them up on our blog?”

Grantaire laughed softly, but didn’t comment on Enjolras immediately launching into new ideas. He pondered the validity of the suggestion- and also the wide array of cooking skills that Les Amis de l’ABC collectively shared. “What if,” he suggested, “we pick the best of the recipes and turn it into a zine? And we can sell them for a euro- or for an at will donation- and use the money for whatever fundraising activity we tie into this campaign?”

Enjolras grinned and pulled Grantaire in for a deep kiss, filled with both personal passion and excitement over this latest idea. “I love you,” he declared.

Grantaire believed him with all his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END!!!!
> 
> I really hope you all liked this. The epilogue was really just a bunch of feel-good-ness, but it was fun to write!
> 
> The bill for which they’re advocating is not based on any one bill specifically, but environmental protection legislation is super important! Also, if you want to talk environmental policy/ activism with me, please hit me up.
> 
> Final Note- Grantaire has a button maker, and if you think he’s NOT making Enjolras a button that says “Yes, alright, I’m excitable about Justice”, then you are 100% wrong.

**Author's Note:**

> I’ll post Part 2 tomorrow.
> 
> Hey also. Go check out Ravi Teixeira on instagram and Twitter. His username is @ jehancourf and he does amazing Les Miserables art and writing.


End file.
